


swingin' with your heart in my hands

by niunepp



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream as Spiderman, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Identity Reveal, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Secret Identity, Simp Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), The Upside Down Kiss, not beta’d we die like tommyinnit in jail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29895675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niunepp/pseuds/niunepp
Summary: So, whenfucking Spidermansaves him from certain death, the superhero is expecting, I don’t know, maybe a little hysteria, maybe a little frantic gratefulness. But, all the masked hero really gets is a deadpan, “Thanks for saving me, can you let me go now? I have work, and I’m late.”orDream is Spiderman, and George really couldn't give a shit.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 269





	swingin' with your heart in my hands

**Author's Note:**

> dream as spiderman brainrot for days ,, i just had to write this so i'm sorry to anyone whos here from my brooklyn nine nine series ,, i promise i'll start working on it soon !!!
> 
> disclaimer: i don’t know anything abt new york so all the details are made up and not real 
> 
> **content warnings:** eating habits are discussed, this starts at "He gets a face full of steam", and ends at “dream wheezes out another laugh”. george has two (2) near-death situations. cursing, and mentions of surgery.
> 
> please do not share this to the cc's in this fic. if anybody in this fic ever changes their minds about works with content such as this, or expresses discomfort with fanfictions written about them, I will take this down immediately.

It’s a typical morning for George. He gets up at 6:00 am, forcing himself out of a warm, comfy bed to the cold, frigid air of his tiny New York apartment is, to say the least, annoying as fuck.

The terrifying noises of his coffee machine are background noise by this point. He’s too broke to fix it and honestly, it’s not worth doing so. He’s standing in his boxers and a t-shirt he borrowed (read: stole) from his neighbour next door, ie. Dream, a few months ago and he hasn’t returned it. He’s not even sure if the man remembers. 

With the scalding hot cup of coffee providing his only source of warmth, he walks back to his room. The socks on his feet muffle the sounds of his walking, not by much but George is sure the people downstairs appreciate the effort.

“Shut the fuck up!” 

Okay, maybe not. 

But it’s not like George can help it. None of the people in this apartment complex can afford better housing where they actually have decent insulation.

By the time he leaves his shitty apartment, George is already exhausted. The prospect of being yelled at by his boss, having to deal with old people who can’t tell the difference between the power button and the enter key, and worst of all teenagers on the bus who giggle amongst themselves when they hear his accent, is exhausting.

“Pass?” The bus driver asks, without a single ounce of interest, and George can’t blame them.

He shuffles around a few things in his bag, before pulling out the small card, “Here you go.” Just like that, five heads instantly jerk up.

George takes the only empty seat left which is next to an older person that he’s not sure is still alive. “So, where are you from?” It’s a group of boys, barely sixteen, curiosity written all over their faces.

George barely conceals his eye roll, “Britain.”

“Cool.”

Surprisingly, this group of kids has manners and they don’t pester him for the rest of the bus ride. 

It’s not like George is a heartless man who hates kids, but when they ask him invasive questions every time he gets on the bus, who can blame him for being wary?

Eventually, the bus stops a block away from his office building. He steps off while being shoved by upset New Yorkers.

The Brit gets maybe twenty feet into his walk before he hears screaming all around him. 

As if his very short day couldn’t get any worse, twenty feet away from his building, a car swerves onto the sidewalk where hundreds of people are walking. George, just so happens to be the only one inches away from being impaled by a fucking 2012 Honda. 

_This is it, 24 years of pain and misery and no real relationship_ , the negligible outcome of his life flashes before his eyes. 

Before his suffering can end with the sweet relief of death, however, he’s yanked up into the air and into the arms of someone. George opens his tightly shut eyes to a red mask that resembles a spider. 

Now, George is no idiot when it comes to pop culture and media consumption. After all, someone who works with computers for a living _has_ to have some knowledge of the relevant memes of the month. But, unlike other people, George doesn’t necessarily care about any of it.

So, when _fucking Spiderman_ saves him from certain death, the superhero is expecting, I don’t know, maybe a little hysteria, maybe a little frantic gratefulness. But, all the masked hero really gets is a deadpan, “Thanks for saving me, can you let me go now? I have work, and I’m late.”

Spiderman sputters, because how is this kid not freaking out about being saved by one of the most iconic pillars of pop culture? 

George just gives him another, lifeless, “Let me down, please.”

“Are you being serious right now?” The words are smothered by the mask, but the tone of the young man is clear - incredulous, and a little in awe.

The Brit only gives him an expectant look and raises an eyebrow.

Under the mask, the hero’s lips flatten and his eyes go a little wide, “Ok, whatever you say.”

Only when Spiderman goes to raise one hand to shoot out another web, does George realize that they’re in the air. In a small moment of panic, he grabs onto the hero’s shoulders tighter.

They land with a flutter, the wind ruffling George’s hair.

“Well, here’s your stop, as requested.” Spiderman gestures to the concrete sidewalk that’s currently broken into thousands of pieces, and covered with bits of metal from the multi-car collision.

George hikes his bag up on his arm, “Thanks.”

The superhero gives a small salute and tips his head in acknowledgement, and flies away. The webs shoot out from his wrists and his muscles tense under the latex of red and blue suit.

For a while, George stands on the sidewalk surrounded by the burning smell of gasoline and metal, and also the faint odor of smoldering human flesh. 

The adrenaline rush that comes from being almost killed, to hanging in the air twenty feet above ground in the arms of arguably the most famous superhero in media, slows down. George’s legs wobble as he forces himself to walk through the glass doors of his office building.

The lady at the desk greets him with enthusiasm that remains a mystery to George, and the rest of the day passes by just as he expects. 

His boss yells at him for being late, and George knows better than to argue about his reasons. Not even Satan would refute ‘I was almost killed’ as an excuse for being late, but his boss is worse than the king of hell.

The first few customers he gets are particularly rough. When he connects his mic and earpiece, it rings just a few minutes into the day. It’s a southern woman who doesn’t know how to take a hint, so George has to suffer through twenty minutes of horrible flirting before he snaps, “Ma’am, I’m gay. I’d appreciate it if you could just tell me what’s wrong with your laptop.”

For that, he gets a quick ‘you’re going to hell!’ before she disconnects. George sighs and rubs at his temple. One day, he’ll quit this god awful job.

“Roberts! I don’t pay you to sit around!”

One day.

**…**

_I’m cursed_ , George thinks absentmindedly. It had been barely two days since his encounter with Spiderman. He had gone home with the worst headache known to man and blisters on his feet that had hurt the whole way home.

The apartment complex that he lived in had a tiny garden at the back, it was overgrown and littered with various kinds of trash. There was an old grandma who spent most of her time on a rickety, seconds away from snapping, wooden chair in the corner near the chain link fence. 

That’s not the point, though. The point is that George has clear access to the comings and goings of this small garden, because his apartment’s small balcony is directly above it. Which is still far away from the main reason why George believes he’s cursed. 

For context, George has been living in this complex for, give or take, a year and a half. His neighbours were mostly seniors who were living off their retirement paychecks, and there’s the occasional single parent that moves in with their kids. 

Half a year ago, though, the older couple in the apartment next door moved away to a senior home. And in moved, Dream. 

The center of all of George’s sexual frustrations. 

The man is 6’3”, which is insane, no _one_ person needs that much height. He’s built in all the right places, a former member of his high school football team, because of course he was. Dirty blond hair, green eyes - even though George can’t see the colour properly - and crooked smile that gave George butterflies.

And, right now, he’s playing basketball in the garden outside. Shirtless, sweaty, and _hot_. Right where George has a clear view of his muscles contracting and tensing under the sun.

George smacks his head against the side of his open window. Somehow, Dream hears it. Like a puppy, he perks up and makes eye contact with George. He tucks the basketball under his arm and gives George a big wave. 

Without wanting to, George’s lips curve up slightly and he returns the wave. Even from where he is, George can see Dream light up with joy. He hides his blush behind the, now cold, cup of tea that’s in his hands, because Dream has impeccable sight and his hearing is perfect.

His efforts are in vain because Dream catches on and the grin turns into a smirk. Before the tanned man can tease him, George turns around and shuffles back to his room with red cheeks and fond smile.

A few hours later, around 11 am, there’s a knock on his door. George puts down the book he was reading and gets out of his bed to open the door.

The door swings open and Dream leaning against the frame, a walking cliché, with a plastic bag in his hands.

George raises an eyebrow at him, “What do you want, Dream?”

The man pouts and lays a hand over his chest, near his heart, “I’m hurt, George. You’re so mean to me.”

“Whatever, what’d you bring?” George rolls his eyes and moves to the side to let Dream in, then grabs the bag to peer inside to see what it was.

He gets a face full of steam when the bag opens, and he looks at Dream confused. They migrate to the small kitchen in his apartment when Dream starts, “It’s from that falafel place you love. I know for a _fact_ you haven’t eaten today.”

“… Yes, I have.”

“Mm hmm, and pray tell, dear George, what did you eat today?”

George busies himself with taking the styrofoam containers out and quickly mumbles out, “An apple,” hoping Dream will ignore it, but of course he can’t have shit around here.

Dream wheezes, and hops up on the counter, “Of course, you had one apple.” George hands him one of the containers and a fork. “Did you at least drink some water?”

The shorter man struggles with mirroring Dream’s motions, but eventually he manages to get up onto the counter opposite to where Dream sits, and through a mouthful of rice, “Of course I did! I’m not _that_ self-destructive.”

“Ok, ok, chill,” Dream wheezes out another laugh, and they finish their food while flirting endlessly, even though each man is oblivious to the fact that the other is reciprocating.

They clean up, throwing out the plastic utensils and crushing the containers into smaller pieces. It’s mostly Dream doing the work, while George sits on the counter swinging his feet.

They’re in the middle of discussing the merits of pineapple on pizza when Dream’s phone rings loudly, the ringtone bouncing around the brick walls. 

He pulls the phone out of the pocket of his jeans, and frowns at whatever is on the screen. Before he can open his mouth, however, George already knows, “You have to go, right?”

Dream winces, and tries for a smile, “Yeah… I’m really sorry, George.”

George shrugs, he’s used to the random disappearances, and the suspicious bruises and cuts, “It’s fine, Dream. Go.” He uncrosses his legs, so they fall apart with a little momentum.

Dream is still apologetic, but now his movements are fraught with hurry, “Thank you,” he cuts across the small distance with one stride and gives George a quick but tight hug. Before George can even wrap his hands around the taller, he’s gone.

George sighs, _time to get back to work._

****

**…**

George genuinely does not understand exactly _how_ he keeps ending up in these situations. He’s a good person, tries to be sustainable, and he stays away from most meat for the majority of the week. Yes, he buys from Amazon, but what do you expect a young adult working minimum wage to do?

There’s a man with a knife blocking his path, and if George were any other person he would be scared out of his mind. However, all George can think of is how inconvenient this is for him. It’s late at night, and he knows that he should’ve stayed away from the sketchy alleyway behind his office building to get to the bus, but it was shorter.

The man exclaims, with a shaky voice that does nothing to instill fear in George, “Give me your money!”

The Brit rolls his eyes, “Look, I need to get home or I’m gonna fall over. Can we just skip to the part where I call the cops and you run away scared?”

In the dim light of the street lamp, George can see the wannabe mugger frown, “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Seriously, you’re so shaky, _I_ could take you down.” The thing is, George is not someone who can fight, so right now he’s completely bullshitting in an effort to stall the serious injuries he could get if this guy gains some confidence.

Out of the corner of his eye, George catches the familiar red and blue streaks zooming through the sky.

The masked hero lands on his feet, with one hand between his feet - his iconic pose - and commands the attention of the petty thief while standing up with a bounce. “Hey, man. It’s late, so can we not?”

“Spiderman?” The awe is evident in the thief’s voice.

The superhero sighs, “Yes, I’m Spiderman.” Without wasting any time, he shoots out two webs - one to grab the knife in the man’s hands, and the other to pin him to the alleyway wall. Spiderman turns around, and types out something on a device that George wouldn’t even dream of owning. The light from the device shines a spotlight on the hero’s mask. He pockets it, and puts his full attention on George.

“Are you okay, Geo- uh I mean, are you ok, random civilian that I don’t know?”

Maybe it’s the fact that George is too exhausted by the idea of being near certain death two times, in almost as many days, that contributes to him not picking up on the hero’s awkwardness.

George breathes out a deep, tired sigh, “No, Spiderman. I’m not ok. But thank you for…,” he gestures to the man that’s struggling under the webs, “for saving me. I need to go, now.”

The eyes on his mask narrow in worry, and he watches as George turns to walk to his bus stop before he realizes he should probably do something, “Hey! Uh, I could give you a ride, or a swing, I guess, technically, to wherever you need to go?”

George stops in his tracks and looks at the hero skeptically, “Why exactly, would you, _the Spiderman_ , give me, _random person_ , a swing?”

The man panics, putting up his hands in a defensive manner, “I’m not trying to be weird or anything, but I have some time, and it is my job to be the friendly neighbourhood Spiderman, you know.”

The brunet contemplates his choices: either walk and take the bus home, which will take just under an hour, or swing around the city in the arms of a hero. Honestly, it’s really no battle. 

“I live near Wickham street, in the apartment complex near the bodega that burned down like a year ago,” he walks back over to the hero, getting very close in the hero’s personal space.

Spiderman tilts his head down to look at George and the latter can see when the realization hits that the hero needs to carry him for this to work. 

George wraps his arms around the hero’s shoulders tightly and, in his fatigued and uninhibited state, very blatantly feels the man up. Even through the mask, George can tell that the hero is blushing. Ah, _pretty privilege_.

Once George is secure in his arms, Spiderman takes off. The webby substance flying out of his wrists in multiple directions. They’re swinging around tall, glass buildings, and brick buildings that were hundreds of years old. The air is whizzing past George’s ears, ruffling his hair and making his eyes tear up.

“You wanna see something cool?!” The hero yells, making sure he’s heard over the loudness of New York.

Not wanting to answer verbally, George tucks his head under the hero’s chin and nods slightly. The masked man understands the motion, and proceeds to throw himself fifty feet above the tallest building in their near vicinity. 

From here, time seems to slow down. For a moment, they’re frozen in the air, cars and buses drive under them. The lights create an art piece while moving, leaving streaks of yellow and white that mesh with each other. 

The moment ends. They drop a few feet before the hero shoots another web and they’re soaring through the air again.

The whole thing doesn’t take too long, so when Spiderman gently rests him down on the balcony of his apartment, the shorter man is sort of surprised that it’s already over. George’s legs almost give in, but there’s gloved hands on his waist that steady him.

“Thank you,” George whispers, just loud enough that no one but the masked hero hears.

He nods and then in the blink of an eye he’s gone.

****

**…**

George has never been more grateful for medical emergencies. His boss needs to get an appendectomy, so there’s a replacement in the office.

Which means that George can finally use up his paid holiday leave. He’s been waiting the whole year to take this break and he desperately needs this. Filing paperwork has never been so comforting, the pen glides smoothly over the sheet and George hums to himself while moving his hand.

He emails a scan of the papers directly to the temporary replacement they’ve put in, and grins to himself when he gets the response that it’s been approved. 

He sighs happily, and relaxes into his bed. George makes a mental list of what he needs to do - chores that he’s put off for too long, recipes he wants to try, friends he needs to catch up with. But for now, he’s gonna take the time to relax.

For the next couple of hours, George lays in bed sprawled across like a cat, scrolling through his social media.

Eventually, he stretches, cracking his back in the process, and slithers out of the sheets scratching at his stomach. In the kitchen, he presses a few buttons on his coffee machine, and goes around picking up pieces of clothing that needs to be washed. While on that train of thought, he realizes that he’s going to have to return the t-shirt he had borrowed from Dream soon. But, not wanting to be left without something from the other man, George makes plans to go next door and steal a sweater or something.

The machine makes a sound, indicating its completion, and he goes to grab a mug from the only cabinet in the kitchen. _Need groceries_ , he thinks, looking at the sad and empty cabinet.

Sipping on his coffee, he goes back to his room to change into something a little more presentable for the laundromat. 

****

**\---**

Luckily, the one good thing about living in an old complex is how any necessary services are close enough that George can just walk. There’s a laundromat five feet away from the entrance of his building, and a bodega across the street. 

The other thing about living in an older part of the city is the fact that there’s a bunch of petty crimes that happen. Which means that the area that George lives in is constantly being looked over by Spiderman.

Who, right now, is helping an old lady with her groceries. Really embracing the _friendly_ aspect of his identity. George is about to enter the laundromat, his arms straining with the weight of weeks of laundry, when the masked hero swoops in to save the day, “Here lemme give you a hand.”

As much as it’s a relief to give up the weight (George really has no upper body strength), he’s not a damsel in distress. 

The Brit squints up at the superhero and yanks the bag back as hard as he can, unfortunately his efforts have the opposite effect. The man doesn’t budge and George stumbles a little.

“Don’t you have lives that need saving or some villain to fight?” Frankly, he’s annoyed. This is his one chance to feel normal again, and George really does not need jacked up heroes ruining his day. 

Spiderman wheezes, and it sounds oddly familiar, before he responds, “I’m officially off-duty, so I have some free time to hang out with my favorite random civilian.”

“We’ve met twice.”

“That’s more than the rest of New York. And, technically, it’s three.” One of the eyes on the mask blinks, and George scoffs. 

He can’t believe this. A fucking _superhero_ is flirting with him.

“Look, Spider-boy-”

“Spiderman.”

“I said it on purpose, dumbass. Listen, this is the first time in _months_ I’ve gotten a day off, and I really want to relax. So,” George pokes a finger into the latex stretched across the hero’s chest, “stop pestering me.”

The eyes narrow, and George assumes that under the mask he’s frowning, “Damn, you’re really bitchy, huh?”

George looks at him, unimpressed.

The masked hero acquiesces, “Fine, but let me just help you with this _one_ chore, and then I’ll go, ok?” His eyes blink, hopefully. They look like the equivalent of puppy dog eyes, but in mask form.

“Whatever,” the Brit rolls his eyes, and lets go of his hold on the laundry bag.

Satisfyingly, the hero has to take a clumsy step back before regaining his balance.

George walks into the laundromat, with Spiderman following him - arms full of clothes and a small bottle of detergent.

An hour later, the hero walks George to the front of his building - handing off the, now clean, clothes. With a salute, he webs away, shouting out a ‘you’re my favourite civilian!’

The Brit sighs, and shakes his head, fondly. 

****

**\---**

When he comes back from the laundromat, there’s some noise coming from Dream’s apartment. _He’s home_ , the thought is quiet but warm.

He turns the key into the lock, and quickly drops the bag of clean laundry near the door, then closes the door to go to Dream’s with the man’s shirt in hand.

George knocks on the door, and waits for it to open, but what he’s not expecting is a kid wearing a bandana to open the door.

The guy’s eyes narrow, as he asks, “Who the fuck are you?”

The Brit scoffs, “Who the fuck are _you_?”

“Ohhhh,” his voice lightens with recognition, “You’re George.”

George frowns, taken aback by this stranger who somehow knows who he is but before he can run the other way, the boy in front of him clarifies, “Dream talks about you. A lot. I’m Sapnap.”

“Cool…,” George leans over slightly to see if Dream was in his apartment, “is he here?”

Sapnap shrugs and tilts his body so that George can enter, “Nah, he’s out somewhere.”

They migrate into the apartment, and George makes his way into Dream’s bedroom. Sapnap sits back down in the living room, where he’s spread out three different folders full of paper and his laptop on the table.

George throws the white t-shirt he borrowed from Dream onto his bed, and starts rummaging through his closet.

There’s sweaters, t-shirts, sweatpants (specifically _grey_ sweatpants) and some formal clothing. Nothing stands out to him until he shuffles the hangers slightly, and there’s a black hoodie. Quickly snatching it, George continues to look around in curiosity.

What he doesn’t expect, though, is a familiar red and blue suit. Even though it’s an older version, George still recognizes it.

And, _oh_.

Suddenly, it’s like everything clicks into place. Dream’s flighty behaviour, the random bruises that showed up and when asked about were pushed to the side. On further reflection, the interactions George has had with Dream’s alter-ego also make sense. The flirting, and the overly obvious concern. 

“Oh, fuck.”

A voice startles him, and he turns around looking like a deer in headlights with the old suit in his hands. Dream - _Spiderman_ \- is coming in through his window covered in broken glass.

“Uh, hi.” George gives him an awkward wave, “Sorry, I _kinda_ know.”

Dream clears his throat, “Yeah, I figured.” He pulls his mask off, no point in keeping it on.

“I should explain-”

“You’re into me-”

Two very different reactions. George blushes when he realizes how, what he said sounds, “You go first.”

Dream chuckles, “Well, I was gonna try to calm you down, in case you were freaked out. But,” the sentence remains incomplete, and the red on George’s cheeks burns brighter.

“Honestly, Dream, I don’t really _care_ ,” he means for it to sound reassuring but it comes out harsher than he wants it to.

“Ouch,” the blond puts a hand to his heart, but he has a smile on his face so George knows that his message got across.

George huffs dramatically, their banter is one thing that’ll never change, “You know what I mean.”

Dream laughs lightly, “Yeah, I do.”

They both pause, and for a few moments no one says anything. A voice from the living room chimes in, “This is where you confess, nimrod.”

Sapnap is clearly talking to Dream, but George still narrows his eyes at potentially being called a nimrod.

A wheeze pulls him back, “I guess he’s right. Uh, George, you’re not dumb or oblivious, so I know you know that I’ve been painstakingly flirting with you. As Dream and as Spiderman.”

George rolls his eyes and smiles affectionately, “Just come here, idiot.”

Dream grins crookedly, and hops over his bed grabbing George by the waist. The former dips George a bit and captures his lips in a kiss.

All George can think of as he wraps his arms around Dream’s neck is, _he’s such a moron_. 

Even though he can’t see them, Sapnap whoops from his spot on the couch while typing down bits of code at a time.

****

**…**

“George, hurry up!” The blood from his body is rushing straight to his head, and Dream isn’t sure how long he can stay like this.

The Brit exhales, annoyed, “You’re the one who wanted to do this in the first place, Dream!” He grabs his boyfriend’s face in his cold hands, steadying him. 

“Ok, I regret it, but just kiss me already!”

George rolls his eyes. 

Dream had been pestering him for a week about how he wanted to try a new position. Sapnap had choked on his coffee and yelled a loud, “You’re such freaks!”

However, Dream _did not_ mean a sex position - he wanted to try kissing upside down. _It’ll look cool_ , he reasoned. 

George doesn’t understand how his boyfriend’s brain works sometimes, after all, who the hell wants to _look cool_ while kissing? But, alas, he caved and now they were standing outside in a dingy alleyway.

Technically, George was standing and Dream was hanging upside down in his suit.

“George!”

“Ok! Chill,” with freezing hands George carefully tugs the mask just over his lips. Muttering a small ‘this is so stupid’ millimeters away from Dream’s lips, he presses their lips together.

It starts out as a peck, but as with everything that has anything to do with Dream and George together, it quickly becomes heated. George barely has time to lick across his boyfriend’s lips, before- 

_Thud_.

“Fuck.”

George laughs, quickly hunching over in a fit of giggles, “Oh my god. Dream!”

“You’re such an idiot, George. Help me up!”

Through his howling, “You’re a superhero, help yourself up!”

Dream whines, “George!”

George reaches a hand out to pull Dream up onto his feet, and instead gets pulled down. They sit there on the muddy alleyway floor, laughing while leaning into each other with stars in their eyes, connecting their lips once more.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading !! i hope you enjoyed !!!!
> 
> i wrote this all in one day so i'm sorry for any mistakes ,, i'll edit later
> 
> check out my tumblr: [ @niunepp ](https://niunepp.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i’ve also written a series !! it’s still on going so check it out: [ "we went from rivals to lovers, and i think that's pretty neat" ](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163987)
> 
> have a nice day or night! please leave a kudos or a comment, it helps me know if people actually like my work lol ,, thank you!!


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